


In the Cold

by MsRenai21



Series: Resistance [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Brutal Murder, Disembowelment, Gen, Murder, Resistance AU, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsRenai21/pseuds/MsRenai21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The once all-powerful Naga King looks back on his life from beginning to end in order tell the truth of his story. He loved, he grieved, and he hurt just like anyone else but he reacted to these emotions in a dramatic and horrific way, almost ruining the young lives of his son, Prince Marco Bodt, and his lover, Prince Jean Kirstein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saphruikan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphruikan/gifts).



I’ve always hated the cold. Whether it be from personal preference or the way this body was made, I just hated it.

Nothing good happens in the cold. You feel distressed, pain, discomfort, and a stinging numbness all throughout your body.

But with warmth, you feel more. Warmth leaves the body relaxed and safe. When I’m enveloped in warmth I feel at ease and content.

My life has been a frequent change between hot and cold and vice versa and I believe it all started with my parents, the king and queen of our beloved home. The Naga Kingdom.

My father, Balthasar Bodt, was a truly amazing king. His soul burned with passion and love for all living beings alike. He loved his family and friends dearly. Being with him was comforting and I felt protected in his strong embrace.

My mother, Aurora Bodt, was the polar opposite. Referring to her as the “Ice Queen” was a simple understatement. That woman had a frozen, frigid heart and an ice cold gaze that would leave you shivering for days. I hated the cold and therefore, I stayed far away from her. That woman was never meant to be a mother nor a wife. She hadn’t had the slightest idea of what it meant to be a caretaker and only cared for her status.

My early years were a constant battle between fire and ice, loving affection and detached responsibilities. 

Once I turned nine, I met a new flame, a new light of my life. My dearest Rose. So sweet and young.

She was a beggar’s daughter and I was the prince of a nation; we were from two completely different worlds but…I knew from then on there was something about her that would last forever in my mind, whether it was her long, obsidian-black hair, her freckles that danced across her tanned skin like constellations in the night sky, or her liquid blue eyes that contrasted intensely with her darkened features.

I was so childish that I still laugh to this very moment. I offered her money and complemented her freckled features before scurrying off back to the castle for safety. I was so immediately smitten with her, with Rose, that I spent the next few days searching for her.

When I found her, I found that she had a twin, a frozen copy of her. Her name was Melody and her features were the same as Rose but more reserved, more muted. It was so simple to tell the difference between that I could do it with my eyes closed. My Rose was so hot and radiant.

But Melody had her moments, where she’d thaw out and shine through the ice wall she had built up. I had fun growing up with them. I got pleasure from helping their impoverished lives in anyway that I could. I bought them a house, paid for their bills, and even helped with providing them other necessities such as food. My father was so proud of me, his earthy brown eyes ignited in utter happiness at my unconditional desire to help our people.

Rose’s father, Raja, was just as polite and reserved as his daughter, Melody, was. He was a hardworking man and did whatever he could for his daughters. When Rose introduced me to him, he was completely shocked and almost frightened of my presence, despite me being a child at the time. And during this time, they lived in a small, one-room shack. I didn’t want them to be uncomfortable, so I moved them out of there and into a decent home.

I even told Raja that I would pay their rent, so he would be able to support and nurture his children. He was a good man and he deserved the help I offered.

I also wanted nothing more than to help Rose. It was all for her. All for my love.

I don’t remember the exact moment my heart began racing when I was near her, yearning for her warm touch against my skin. I don’t remember when it was that the flames of desire overcame me and insisted that I make my friend my lover. I had never felt such an intense passion for anyone before that point in time. I don’t remember when it happened exactly but I didn’t fight it. Being with her, watching her smile rival the brightness of the sun, was the best time of my life. Full of love, laughter, and heated desire.

When I was nineteen, my feelings for her had consumed me in a raging fire that burned in the very pit of my stomach and in my heart. I think Rose felt it too, how her eyes would stare into mine a few seconds longer before darting away in an embarrassed fashion. How her touches lingered on me far longer than any platonic touch should last. Such simple contact left burns on my body that I would feel for days.

And one night, our dream came true as our lips met, sending an electric spark through my entire body, my very being. I melted into her kiss, into the searing hotness of her soul.

But then it got cold; I was freezing.

She pushed me away and cast me aside. I was more confused than anything but I listened to her simple request. I left the house that night, forlorn and sad.

The fire, however, remained and I knew that that wasn’t the end.

I came back, sneaking into her room while her family slept peacefully in their own beds. She allowed me back in her presence and told me of her concerns, her insecurities. I offered her a gentle, friendly touch, using the heat of my love for her to comfort her. A peasant and a prince was indeed not a common sight, but I had no care for such a foolish, old-fashioned concept. 

She was my fire, my light, and I desperately needed her to be mine.

Her first touch sent shivers down my spine and I was already craving more. Our lips met reluctantly, hesitantly, before we settled down and gave ourselves up. We broke down every wall between us and melded into one.

Rose fit perfectly against me, as if our bodies were made just for each other. Feeling her surround me was an absolutely indescribable feeling. Tight, searing, moist, and _perfect_ are all I can think of, yet those words do her no justice. There exists no words of the magnitude in which I wish to use for her. Confining her body and her love to such simple words is almost insulting to her, and she deserves far more praise than I could ever provide.

The sight of her before me with a flushed, red face, parted lips, and soft gasps of pleasure was more than I could handle. Her midnight hair splayed out beneath her head and over the white sheets of her bed tantalized me. The bright light of the moon highlighted her features, shining brightly on her exposed skin. This was Rose, raw and vulnerable, begging for me, begging for us to be one.

I felt so hot that night, so hot even after my blissful release. So hot in her embrace. We slept in her bed that night, tangled in each other’s arms, holding each other close.

Ten years from the time I met her, I finally made her mine.

Our time together in the beginning was swelteringly hot, suffocating me from the humidity of our lovemaking, but I embraced it. Every second that I was with her, in her, was beyond euphoric. It was only when we were separated did I feel chilling winds dance across my body. Despite being curled up in my bed, under the thick covers, I was shivering, craving the warmth of her soul next to mine.

When our bodies would reunite, that same burning, that same passion never diminished. It was so right, so right with her, like I had found my missing piece. A missing piece to my soul.

How did I ever exist without her before?

How could I have said that I was living life to the fullest without her?

Soon after, just a few short years after, I proposed to her. I promised her a beautiful, wonderful life with me as my queen. Rose was my queen, my love. She accepted me; she accepted me into her heart and her soul. I had everything of her and I gave her all of me. I felt at that moment that the flame we’ve created together could never be extinguished.

I had never felt so warm and happy in all my life.

We were married not too long after that. It was just such a shame that her father was unable to be with us in the physical realm but he was in our hearts.

Our wedding was a joyous celebration, one of the happiest days of my life. Full of laughter, warmth and love from my new wife, my beautiful bride. The colors of the wedding reflected such an occasion with the velvety creases of the burgundy drapes, the bright crimson sash around Rose’s thin shoulders and my broad ones, and the intricate golden designs woven carefully into each decoration.

Rose’s beauty rivaled that of any goddess ever created. She had the brightest aura, lighting up the entire room as she walked in with her smile alone. But she always saved a special smile for me, a soft, loving smile that sent my heart racing. I would always feel a flutter in my stomach whenever she reached her hand out towards me, only wanting my touch.

We snuck out of the reception fairly early, unable to keep our roaming hands away from each other for too long. I took her out to the balcony, to watch the night sky illuminated by the millions of stars above. Looking at them made me realize it was like meeting her for the first time again. Those freckles on her skin are what brought me to her and looking up at the stars that mimicked her patterns let me feel at ease.

We were a match made in heaven, Rose and I. We were destined to be together since the beginning of time and we had finally become one.

I took her to my room, our room, that night and made sweet, passionate love to her. I worshiped every inch of her delicate body by ghosting kisses wherever I could reach and tangling my fingers in her soft locks. She gasped and moaned at the pleasure I gave her and my name became the only thing she remembered how to say. This was our first union as husband and wife, and just thinking of the white hot passion from that night burns me to this day. My nights with her kept my soul warm.

Unfortunately, the warmth and comfort she gave me couldn’t save me from the cold, numbing feeling I got the morning I was announced the new king of the Nagas. My stomach wrenched from those words as our trusted nobles spoke them to me. Rose was right there, clenching onto my hand for dear life as I shook, a thin layer of sweat covering my body.

My father had passed away in his sleep the night before.

I was utterly inconsolable. I asked constantly why it wasn’t my mother who perished. I wanted nothing to do with her; she could go freeze hell over for all I cared. However, the icy grip of death stole my father away, my papa, and left me here to rule the kingdom I was trained to all my life.

I ruled under his example, treating my people fairly and justly while keeping them safe and happy. My rule started off easy, as I personally knew my people from my years of mingling amongst the commoners. I was loved just as my father was and that fact alone helped me calm down, helped me grieve properly for him.

I was to do my father proud.

The work of a king was nothing compared to that of a prince. The paperwork was endless; meetings were a constant event that were almost held back to back. All this time running my nation took away the time I used to spend with my wife. Despite this, we always reserved our evenings with each other, enjoying a long, hot bath together.

One night, after a particularly stressful and infuriating day, I had to crawl into the bath. My Rose tended to my every need, bathing me, washing my hair, and even massaging me, hoping for me to relax and calm down. She was suspiciously giddy that night and I knew something was going on. I inquired as to what happened and she grew quiet, alarming me. Before long, she began to smile and laugh, reassuring me that she was not in pain and when she finally calmed down, she spoke to me in such a soft tone.

_“You’re going to be a daddy.”_

Her words sent a shock through my body as I whirled around to look closely at her face for any sign of a joke. Rose would never lie or poke fun at such a serious matter. I took her into my arms and pulled her close, holding her against me for the longest time. We only pulled away once the water turned cold and got out immediately to dry ourselves and get ready for bed.

I was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe the words that were spoken to me from those sweet lips. Rose made me the happiest man alive by being my wife and now bearing me a child. I had always wanted a big family, since I grew up an only child because my frozen mother never wanted to bear more.

She had her son, the heir to the throne, and put off from bearing any more children. Selfish.

But Rose and I, we were different. We’d have as many as she could bear properly. And I was to be a father, strong, kind, and seen as a mentor. I was to protect my family just as I had been taught to protect my people.

Everything went well. The egg was lain with almost no problems and my dearest Rose could barely keep away from it. Don’t get me wrong, it was almost impossible to keep myself from doting on the egg, but I had duties to attend to and a face to maintain. But at night, I would spend _hours upon hours_ talking about the baby that would be born in a few short months. I always turned to see Rose smiling at me, eyes full of love and the warmest smile anyone has ever seen.

The day the egg started to hatch, I dropped everything and ran quickly to the nursing room, delighted to see that Rose had beaten me there. She was hunched over, watching the egg when I came in, and I had to gently take her away. When Naga children hatch, they must not be helped out of the egg nor be touched for their first few moments of life. This is to help in not distressing the newborn as they flicker their second tongue, learning about the life outside.

I held tightly onto Rose, smiling from ear to ear as we watch our child crack through the egg, crying and showing us that it’s alive and healthy. Before I had a chance to stop her, Rose pried herself from my arms and rushed over to the child, helping it out of the shell. She held our baby close and I almost panicked as the child screamed and flailed but it calmed down just as quickly as it pitched a fit.

_“I-It’s a boy! We h-have a baby boy!”_

My son. Our son.

Once the nurses tended to him, I was finally able to hold him. Tears flowed from my eyes as I got to look down at my child’s face, seeing his one eye open as he peers curiously at me with his tongue actively flickering.

_“Isn’t our little Marco beautiful?”_

_“That’s right. W-We agreed on Marco, didn’t we?”_

On that day, June 16th, Rose and I became the proud parents of prince Marco Bodt.

When I held his small body, he felt so fragile and vulnerable. It was almost like something bad could happen to him if I had let him go, if I didn’t protect him properly. Marco was such a lively baby, squirming happily in my arms, turning his head around to see the new world before him. I held so much love for my child; I was the happiest man alive.

I spent as much time with Marco as I could with my busy schedule. If I wasn’t with him, I was at least comforted knowing that Rose was tending to him. It was comical, the time she threw a fit to nurse her own child rather than having a wet nurse around. It was endearing to me, to know that she wanted to be a part his life as much as possible.

Such a stark contrast with my mother.

Fire and ice. It’s safe to say that fire is stronger and is more loving and comforting. Rose was an amazing mother to our son and I tried to be a proper father to Marco. I tried to be a proper husband and lover to Rose.

Everything was perfect.

Rose was perfect. I was perfect. Marco was perfect.

Everything worked like a dream, like it was meant to.

Perfect. Perfect. _Perfect._

…

It wasn’t perfect.

During my twenty ninth year of life, when my little son was only four years old, I traveled with my wife to the Human Kingdom. We were there under peace negations between our kingdoms because of a small skirmish that had transpired. I was on friendly terms with the Human King, Reginald Kirstein, and his wife, Cosette Kirstein. I had known him basically all my life despite him being twelve years my senior.

It was more than just a simple peace meeting. It was a lovely evening out in their garden on a breezy summer’s night. We chatted together, laughed, and overall enjoyed each other’s company. I was intoxicated by the warmth of the weather and breathed in the joy and laughter. I had trusted Reginald so much that I didn’t bother to bring my own guard with me. It was supposed to be a perfect night and we were to return to our sleeping son back in our kingdom.

But it didn’t happen.

In the darkness of night, I didn’t see the men appear from the shadows, concealing a blade in their sleeves. No one saw it.

Except for my Rose.

In the blink of an eye, she rushed in front of me and held onto me so tight. It happened so fast, I couldn’t register what had happened immediately. I was in a state of shock as Reginald called forth for his guards to pursue the trespassers. I couldn’t pay attention, their voices were so garbled, as if I was underwater. What was in front of me demanded my full attention.

Rose gripped onto my shoulders, digging her fingers into my flesh as warm blood spilled onto me. She…

S-She…

Those men were after _me._ They wanted _me_ to die.

But Rose stopped them. With her own body.

She slipped from my grasp and I leaned down to catch her quickly. I held her tightly in my arms, against my chest, desperately trying to keep her warm; she was fading away fast. In her final moments, she whispered to me,

_“Keep Marco happy.”_

It was the worst night of my life. My wife, my Rose, she died in my arms that night. I watched the light fade from those cool blue eyes and felt her body go limp in my arms. I cried for her, I screamed for her to come back. She left me that night; she left me to travel back home alone that night.

That night. Everything happened so fast, it looked like a blur. I wasn’t myself and it was almost as if I had blacked out and landed myself into a coma. I was never the same after that night. 

That night. When we returned home and the doctors pronounced her dead, my heart shattered into pieces. I was distraught, anguished, angry, hysteric, and everything in between. How? How did I go from living a perfect lifestyle with a perfect wife to being a widower just a few years later?

My guards urged me to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep in the wedding bed that my wife and I shared together. I couldn’t sleep in the same bed where I had slept with my wife, cried to my wife, and held my wife when she was sad. Not in the bed where my son was conceived, never again.

I was overcome with grief, the sadness was overflowing and too much to bear. In a poor attempt to release these feelings, I destroyed whatever I touched. I broke anything and everything just as my heart was broken into pieces, unable to be repaired. I smashed chairs, I turned over tables, pictures and paintings were damaged. I screamed, I cried, I wailed, begging for the aching in my chest to stop.

The tears had long dried up but the _pain_ was no where near its end. However, before I could continue my reckless onslaught, I heard crying from outside my bedroom door. It sounded distressed and panicked.

Marco.

I wiped my face furiously, trying my hardest to maintain my normal, stoic expression so as not to distress my son. I doubt that he would even know or understand my pain at such a young age. I gathered Marco into my arms and retired to bed.

That night was the last night I ever held my son in my arms. I was so dreadfully cold that night.

Thinking back to it, that was the time my sanity broke. I was a changed man from my wife’s death. I needed her, I needed her _so much._ I grew bitter and resentful. 

The humans tricked me. Reginald betrayed me because he was jealous. He was jealous of my perfect life. He was jealous that _my_ son was to be a better heir than his, stronger and smarter. I could laugh at how petty this man was because overall, he was jealous of my wife. She was able to produce a healthy child on her first try while his wife’s old, poisoned body killed his first two children.

Yeah, Reginald wished he had my life and my success, so he thought he could break me by killing my wife and claim that it was a completely coincidental event. What a disgusting man. No matter, I had Marco, and I swore that one day I would let my son know of the sins that _that_ man had committed against me.

But at the time, I wanted to shield Marco from the truth. I quickly sought after Melody, Rose’s twin sister, and married her, telling her that she had to fill Rose’s place for Marco otherwise I’d kill her. She agreed, fretting over her own life, and soon became Marco’s new mother and my new wife. One thing she refused to do, however, was to act exactly like Rose. Melody remained her own being but portrayed herself as Rose to my son.

She was a two faced woman and it infuriated me. However, her will was not easily broken and I soon gave up on trying to condition her to be my Rose, my love. She didn’t deserve that spot anyway. Melody was too cold to ever hope to be like her sister.

There was something far worse to attend to at the time, something colder and more frigid. My mother used whatever chance she got to voice her disdain for my Rose and my Marco. She had hated them from the beginning, claiming them to be dirty scum because of the freckles on their skin. My mother called them impure and told me to simply do away with them and marry a pureblood aristocrat.

I lost it.

I lost it one morning at breakfast, right in front of Marco. A few maids carried him away as I was quickly enraged with my mother’s disgusting comments. I approached her, hissing and baring my fangs as I hollered at her. It felt so good, so right to finally unleash years of contempt I felt for the Ice Queen. To see the fear in her eyes as I got closer and closer filled me with so much joy and excitement; I was in a state utter bliss as I encroached in her space. 

I exiled her from my kingdom, stating that if I ever saw her face again and near my family, I would rip her body to shreds and make a public example of her.

It felt so good to get rid of her. Some of the coldness she left in the palace has left with her and I felt a tiny bit warmer.

For the following years after that incident, I declared war on the humans, wanting desperately for them to feel the same despair as I did every miserable second of my life. I meticulously planned every attack and made sure my army was in peak condition to fight. My people urged them on, building morale, mourning for the queen that was stolen from us.

It seemed, however, that as the years passed, my people were growing wearier as the war raged on. Some even tried to turn their attacks towards me but I crushed them before anything could happen and brought attention to them to my people. I warned them that if they stepped out of line, even the tiniest bit, then their fates were to be worse than what I displayed to them.

They were smart to heed my warning.

I also noticed a change in myself. I became quieter and kept to myself and I rarely smiled, if at all. I kept myself in silence; hell, I preferred the silence over the dull hum of casual conversation. Whether it was my in my conference room or my own bedroom, I spoke only when absolutely necessary. I had to save my voice for my wife when she would visit me in my thoughts. My Rose always brought out the best in me and only she deserved it.

These worthless pawns had no right to see me happy once more.

As for my son, Marco, I left him to his own devices and called for him when I needed to teach him of his upcoming tasks, for his future goals. He was to become a spectacular king one day in my place, and he needed to know what hatred felt like, and how sweet revenge would be. But he showed no interest in any of it, and this alarmed me. Maybe giving him time to himself had filled his head with the wrong sort of ideas.

When he was sixteen years old, he left the kingdom frequently, hiding out in the Forest of Neutrality. I tried not to pay too much mind to it but it would frustrate and annoy me. It bothered me so much that I could not bear to look at him for too long.

Soon his ventures into the forest became too frequent and I was beginning to become quite alarmed. I would cut his time out of the palace in half, making sure he was with me when human prisoners were executed and hoped that he would come to his senses. He always looked away or had a blank expression on his face whenever I was nearby. His hatred wasn’t strong enough and I needed to nurture it.

His squeamishness towards a human execution was the final straw and I kept a close eye on him until he made his first, major mistake.

Marco and his guard, Bertholdt Hoover, stayed away from the palace for an entire night and when they returned, I smelled alcohol on their breaths. I was enraged but I had to conceal it if I wanted the truth from this boy’s mouth; the truth that I heard from one of my loyal guards, stating that he had been seen with _humans._

Oh, it pained my poor, old heart to hear of such betrayal, even more so because it was from my own son. When I took him into my study, I let my anger be known as I shouted at him, shoved him around and made him look me straight in the eye as I unleashed my disappointment unto him. At that time, I also relieved his guard of duty to be replaced with the next best guard, Marlowe Freudenberg. And as punishment, I forbade him from leaving the palace and forced him by my side during his waking hours.

I had him by my side for weeks, forcing him to watch as I slowly drained the life from my enemies and teaching him to feel the same joy as I did. I was breaking him and I was pleased with the results. During my rule after Rose had died, I made it illegal to show and compassion or sympathy for the humans. Anyone who opposed me was crushed immediately. But for Marco, I wanted to give my boy a second chance because he was being led astray; he didn’t choose to enjoy their company, they forced him because they knew who he was.

Some months later, I allowed him to leave the palace walls because of his good behavior. I was finally able to mold my son to my will, creating a clean slate to work with. I was overjoyed at the prospect that Marco would finally be by my side, living by my example.

It pleased me to know that he returned just the same and without the scent of a human on him.

The next time, however, he reeked of human beings. I inquired if he had run into any of those disgusting creatures to which he replied that he hadn’t. He lied to me, but I let it go. I wanted to see how long he’d keep this up, to see which side he actually supported.

Perhaps I had looked too much into it? Maybe he could have attacked the humans he met but…I didn’t smell any blood on him. In fact, his eyes seemed to have the tiniest bit of emotion in them, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Something was going on and I grew ever more paranoid at what my son was doing.

Within a matter of weeks, Marlowe, my son’s loyal guard came to me with distressing news. He was so shaken but I demanded that he tell me, for I was growing ever impatient. He calmed himself and looked up, avoiding my gaze and with a grimace, he tells me of my worst fears.

My son, Marco Bodt, had been intimate with a human. And no mere human at that.

The son of my enemy. The Human Prince, Jean Kirstein.

I was enraged, a searing flame burst all throughout my body. I had to stop this nonsense at once before my dear son was tainted by such evil. I demanded that Marlowe see to this problem at once and that, should Marco leave again, to gather additional guards and ambush them.

I stayed within the confines of my study for the next few days, knowing that if I were to see my son’s face, I would harm him. I would have taken all of my frustrations out on him for being intimate with that human. He knew how much I despised that kind, that species, and deliberately disobeyed me. Marco certainly gained Rose’s rebellious streak.

When Marco left the next time, I made sure Marlowe and his team went right after him, telling him to react as soon as anything happens. I didn’t want the Human Prince’s filthy hands all over my son and I didn’t want my son to condemn himself to hell by touching that disgusting spawn.

The anger that was within me had long subsided into pure bliss. I was so close to kidnapping the Human Prince should he be caught with my Marco. Once I had that boy in my grasp, I’d use him to lure his father to me and once I would have the Human King here…oh, god, shivers ran down my spine just thinking of it. I’d kill his son right in front of his eyes, torturing the boy and laughing as his blood would spill all over the marbled floor. Then, only then, would the Human King know my pain. He’d know the suffering that I had lived with for thirteen years.

Thirteen years of being cold. Thirteen years of being split in half and bleeding from the heart.

I would soon get my revenge on that man, Reginald Kirstein. I planned to tear him limb from limb slowly, enjoying the sound of screams and agony that elicit from his throat. I couldn’t wait to spill his blood all over the floor, painting the palace red. Red was always my favorite color.

I welcomed Marlowe back with open arms as he brought not only my son, but that wretched, spoiled prince. I was ecstatic, a rush of fire burning through me, the first wave of warmth I’ve felt in awhile. My heart was racing and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, watching as the young prince was dragged into the palace, unconscious. He was brought to the dungeons while I dealt with my son, my previous anger returning as I looked upon his face.

We argued; he was clearly _possessed_ by those humans and his mind was _poisoned_ with thoughts of peace and harmony between us and them. I inquired about his relationship with the other boy and he spoke so well of him. It was absolutely disgusting, hearing that garbage spew from my dear son’s mouth. Talking about love and understanding. I felt like I was losing my son and I reacted harshly. I _refused_ to let Reginald and his family take anyone else away from me! I lunged for Marco both out of anger and protection. He fought back and I had no choice but to defend myself. My hand reached for his throat immediately, knowing to hold him down there before he had a chance to reveal his fangs to me. It was a safety measure, nothing more.

Marco’s hand tried to pry mine away but I was still too powerful for him. Before going too far, however, I pulled away, demanding that my guards take him down to the dungeon to calm down from his childish temper tantrum. He was to be placed in the cell opposite from his little friend, to watch with his very own eyes as I allowed Marlowe to do what he pleased with the prince.

To my delight, Reginald had taken the bait, and I was to receive him within the next day. He fell for my trap. He thought he can negotiate to get his son back but I planned on killing them both. What sweet, sweet victory for me, thirteen years in the making.

Reginald came to me, settled down into my conference room on the opposite side of the table from me. I had kept my hands in front of my face, hiding my grin. He pleaded for me to release his son, no matter the cost. I told him that it was a fine transaction and that I would keep him in the palace as a prisoner. His guard, however, was restless, constantly shifting in her seat and making noise. I glared at her and once Reginald noticed my discomfort, he dismissed her.

As she left the room, Reginald turned back to me, his golden eyes shining bright in relief. 

_“And now, I’ll have to tell you that this was a trap. My men have already reached my son and are taking him home. You’ve lost, my old friend.”_

Rage. Hatred. Anger. A searing heat burning in the pit of my stomach as it twisted in coils. I was tricked, fooled again by this man. Twice. H-He…he…

I snapped. With all my might I lunged for him across the table, knocking him down. His head hit the floor and he groaned in pain as I picked him back up, staring him in the face, baring my fangs. Hissing was my only response as I quickly coiled my body around his, rendering him immobile. Reginald put his hands up to push me away but to no avail. I was younger and far stronger than he could ever hope to be. I was still in my prime and he was just a fat, old man.

I bit into his flesh, careful not to use my fangs. I wanted this to last as long as possible. I wanted to hear his screams echo across the rooms long after he’s perished. His blood tasted sweet and it dripped down his flesh, staining his white garment with a rich, dark red. I kept biting and tightening around him. He screamed but refused to beg for mercy. It made me angrier; I was furious that even _now,_ he refused to satiate my thirst for vengeance.

I threw his body down on the ground, knowing that he would have been too weak to run away. I stalked around him, slithering carefully as I kept my eyes on my prey. He stayed on the ground, refusing to look at me, making me seethe with rage. I lunged for him a final time, sinking my fangs into his thick neck, feeling him jerk and squirm beneath me.

Hours passed as I slowly and carefully aimed my next bites, careful not to kill him instantly. His screams of agony soon turned to soft grunts as he was getting closer to his sweet release. I hope he’ll see the fiery pits of hell as he leaves this physical realm.

Soon his body gave out, his attempts to push me away halted and his arms fall limp to his side. How sad. His death gave me hours of amusement but it only felt like a few minutes.

I guess it’s true what they say, time flies when you’re having fun.

But I wasn’t done with him. More. I needed _more._ I took his lifeless body and ripped it open, spilling his blood and entrails onto the cold marble floors. The grey and white swirls on the floor have been covered with the thick, red blood that trailed on without end. Blood covered my hands up to my elbows and a smear of it went across my face. I looked down into Reggie’s wide-open, lifeless eyes and cackled.

I won.

I got revenge on my wife’s murderer after thirteen long years.

I stayed in the conference room for days, watching Reginald’s corpse as if it would reanimate. I almost hoped it would so I could relive the joy of killing him over and _over._ The room reeked of his torn flesh and dried blood but I loved every bit of it. It was my trophy, a mark for the good deed that I had done.

I let his blood dry on my flesh, enjoying it as I did with the tattoos that were carved into my body when I was younger. They were just new additions, new art for my body. I barely even felt anything anymore at that point. I felt nothing, emptiness. I didn’t even feel cold or hot anymore.

But I felt stronger. I was the mighty Naga King that could _accomplish_ anything that I wanted to. I was unstoppable, invincible. But I was still missing one thing.

There was only one thing that would make all of this perfect.

My son, Marco, by my side and rejoicing with me.

When I finally got down from my euphoria, I summoned Marlowe to give him his next task. He and a group of my most skilled men were to infiltrate the Human Kingdom and dispose of Jean and the remaining queen. I set them off immediately, hoping for good results.

What came back to me was not all that I hoped for. Marlowe was the only survivor of the bunch and he had not been able to murder Jean. I was furious, burning with anger at his incompetence. He had come back missing one of his hands and wounded all over but that didn’t stop me from grabbing his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes. Marlowe pleaded for me to spare him as he was only able to kill the queen but was stopped by Bertholdt before getting rid of Jean.

_“That guard, Bertholdt Hoover, is a devil in a naga’s body.”_

Seeing as he had done a good deed in surviving and ridding the world of the Human Queen, I spared him, knowing that he still has some use left in him. I could see in his eyes the same hatred and loathing for the human race as I had. It was almost a mirror image of my own sanity.

I doubled my attacks on the humans in the war. I demanded that my soldiers kill, slaughter and maim any human that they saw, whether man, woman, or child. Surely that would have been enough to bring attention to myself. Those peace loving freaks on the other side were soon to bend to my will, wanting to put an end to this decade long war.

It took two months of planning, but that boy of mine along with Jean Kirstein, the new Human King, finally contacted me, asking me for one last peace negotiation. The fools! They were just hand-delivering my son and my prey to me. In fact, I regarded it as a celebration, as the glorious return of my heir!

I made an effort to look presentable for when my son arrived. I bathed and cleaned myself off, finally washing away the dried blood that was caked to my flesh. It had been so long since I had a warm bath; it briefly reminded me of the times I shared times like this with my loving wife.

Briefly.

I hope she was watching me from the heavens above. I hope that she would be happy that I was finally giving her the justice she deserved.

_“I’m getting our son back for us, my love! Just you wait.”_

I ordered my guards to display the rotting carcass of the former Human King out in front of the palace for my guests to see. I was sure that little Jean would love to see his father greet him at the doors of death.

I announced to my people that this would be a joyous day and that we would celebrate the return of our prince, Marco Bodt. Everyone did as they were told and prepared for a day of celebration for our reunion.

Once they arrived by carriage to the front of the palace, I waited for them at the top of the steps, giving them my biggest smile. I tilted my head to the side, watching Jean eagerly, waiting for him to catch sight of his father welcoming him in to my home. I felt my heart skip a beat as his face twisted with nausea and dread. The poor lad didn’t know that the same exact thing would happen to him as soon as I get my hands on him.

I bowed, welcoming them in to my palace and leading them into the conference room. Oh, how I absolutely couldn’t wait for them to see how I’ve redecorated that room since they’ve last visited. All of us gathered together, filing into the room with me sitting at the head of the table. Little Jean sat next to my Marco, face white with nausea, refusing to look at me. Marco did just the same, keeping his head bowed out of fear.

They pleaded with me, begging me to stop this war, to stop all this bloodshed. I honestly had no intention of listening to them, so their demands for peace fell on deaf ears. Once they finished their little sob story, I glared at them, calmly saying the words,

_“Bring back my wife. Bring me back my wife and you can have your peace.”_

They were completely stunned by my sudden demand and for some reason, it made me increasingly angry. I stood up, slamming my fists down onto the table, causing them to flinch in fright as I stalked over to them. Slithering around them, I carefully observed my son interacting with Jean. They held each other in a comforting manner and I saw a small flash from Marco’s hand.  
 Oh? A ring?

There was a ring on my son’s left hand. An engagement ring, perhaps?

I commented on it, watching as they stood and backed away from me. They were terrified and tried their hardest to keep their ground. What pathetic fools.

I turned back, getting a fair distance away from them as I called for my men to ambush their lot and retrieve my son. However, I didn’t plan on Bertholdt charging into the room and attempting to fight his way through to Marco. I was afraid, I was terrified, knowing that he would come for me so I ran off. I would let Marlowe deal his revenge on him but I had to flee at that point.

I had to remain safe and alive.

Alive to see Jean die in my hands. To see his eyes roll back and his body fall limp as he bled out just as his father did.

I slithered through the halls as fast as I could with my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest. I didn’t even have to turn around to know that Marco and Jean were pursuing me; I could just smell them.

After a small chase and desperation to get somewhere safe, I made it to my room and hid on the balcony that was connected to it. I waited for them to enter, carefully peeking behind the curtain to watch their every movement. They were shocked at the state of my bedroom, noticing how clean and immaculate it was. I was only brought out of my trance when Marco started to reach for a portrait of my loving wife.

My voice bellowed and echoed throughout the room as I demanded that he stayed away from her, telling him he didn’t deserve to be anywhere near her. This alerted them to my whereabouts but I kept myself hidden off to the side. As they cautiously approached the balcony, I ambushed them, charging for Jean first. Marco lunged for me as well but, by chance, one of my loyal guards slipped away from the battle below and held Marco down. Good, he could watch me slaughter his forbidden lover.

The sky above looked just as threatening as I did to poor little Jean. What was once sunny was then covered with dark, ominous clouds, ready to unleash its fury onto the earth. It was almost a mirror for what I was about to do.

I cackled menacingly as I grabbed Jean up, forcing him over to the edge of the balcony. Both he and Marco screamed, begging me not to throw him over but I had no intention of doing that. I was almost offended that they’d assume I’d deliver such a boring, painless death. I just wanted Jean to know what will happen to him. I gripped Jean’s hair harshly, forcing him to look at the ground below to where his father’s remains were put on display.

I leaned close to him, telling him right next to his ear that his father never loved him. The widening of his eyes and the hitching of his breath gave me an insane amount of pleasure. I felt an intense wave of heat coiling in my lower abdomen; it was an almost erotic feeling from his despair. Jean tried to tell me I was wrong but I was stronger. I told him his father regretted ever giving his life for him, that he regretted ever bringing such a worthless, incapable heir into the world. As I watched Jean break before my very eyes, I threw him back to the center of the balcony, slithering around him and watching him like my prey. Laughter erupted from my throat, shaking my entire body.

I pulled my arm back, forming a fist, and punched him in the jaw. The sickening crack of his bones filled the air as I hit him again and again. Marco was screaming and thrashing but didn’t dare move for my guard had done well to keep him still with a weapon to his throat. I warned him to keep my son unharmed, otherwise I’d have his head when I was done with Jean.

While Jean was on the ground, confused and bleeding from his mouth, I withdrew a hidden blade from the blood red sash around my robe. Marco’s screams pierced my ears once he saw a faint glint of the blade. I shot him a warning glare and demanded that he kept his mouth shut.

I lifted Jean up by his collar; his royal crown slid off from his head and landed with a loud clatter against the marble floor. The boy was barely conscious from the whole ordeal and it was almost annoying. I whispered to him, telling him that his father lasted for hours before he finally perished. I brought the blade up, tightening my grasp around the hilt, and slashed at his chest, not deep enough to kill but enough to make him bleed.

More and more! I slashed him more, getting a little deeper each time. His eyes had long rolled back in his head but he was still alive. When I raised my hand, ready to deal the final blow, I heard a clatter to my side and saw Marco coming for me. He had managed to free himself from the guard’s grasp by biting his arm and turning around swiftly to punch him. The guard fell to the floor, out cold from the blow. I tossed Jean to the ground, keeping my eyes on Marco’s as we circled around each other.

The knife was still in my hand.

He yelled at me, calling me coward for all the things I’ve done. Child, I was serving justice where it was meant to be. I told him I didn’t understand him and that, if he ever wanted my good graces again, he would need to repent for his sins. He refused my heed and I lunged for him, punching him in the face, telling him that if he won’t obey me of his own volition, I would have to teach him obedience through pain.

I was far better than my own son. I was bigger, stronger, and faster than him and I had the advantage over him. My son was weak and soft; it was almost like he couldn’t bear to hit me. I wanted to toughen him up, so I brought up his little fling with the dying king. He froze up as I mocked Jean to his face, telling him he’d have no future with such a useless, weak boy as him.

Marco growled and charged for me before I even had the chance to finish. His fist connected with my face and sent me sprawling back. I was in shock. Complete and utter shock that my son dared to hit me, to lay a finger on me. I had no choice to defend as he continued his assault, punching and scratching at me, shouting like a madman.

I was too disoriented to fight back and he was fighting so haphazardly I couldn’t get my bearings in time for a plan. I was brought out of this state when he knocked me over once more, throwing me over the edge of the balcony where I just had Jean. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins as he hit me again, threatening to shove me over the edge of my own balcony. I panicked, my anger being replaced with fear and disgust. Disgusted that my own son would turn against me after all I have done for him in his life.

I had to fight. I had to fight back.

I had to keep living.

I elbowed Marco violently, pushing him off of me, and kept my knife in front me for self defense. I watched him carefully, looking into hardened brown eyes, the eyes that I gave him. I couldn’t read them; for the first time in my life, I could not read his eyes and I was filled with fear. My eyes glanced down at the hand holding the knife and I noticed that I was shaking. Shaking before my own son.

Marco came after me again, going straight for my weapon. I tried to fight him off without accidentally hurting him or killing him but he bit my hand with all his might, breaking the skin. I yelped in pain and withdrew my hand closer to me, ultimately letting go of the knife. Marco scrambled for it and stared back at me with such deranged eyes.

_“Are you scared of me, Father?”_

I saw myself. His eyes were a mirror of myself.

I was horrified. My fingers were going numb and my heart was beating rapidly.

Was I hot? Was I cold? I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t tell. All I know is that I needed to get away.

Get away as fast as I could.

We fought once more but this time it wasn’t for what I believed in. It was for my life. My life that my son threatened to take away from me. He charged me one final time, knocking me onto the ground as hard as he could. I was powerless before him as he raised the knife up, tilting his head to down upon me as if I were a mere insect.

He brought the knife down and I shut my eyes as tight as I could.

I didn’t feel anything.

I peeked back up to him as I heard the knife clatter to the floor. He slumped forward, holding his head in his hands and unable to look at me. I was confused. He had me; he had me right where he wanted me and he couldn’t even finish me off. He couldn’t kill me despite how easily I was able to slaughter his lover. Marco obviously didn’t love him as much as he claimed to. _I_ was able to murder those who hurt my wife without a second thought.

 Even the man I once considered a friend.

I demanded this of him, asking him why he couldn’t even finish the job. Marco sobbed and told me that he never wanted to be anything like me, anything like the murderer that I am. I lied there, on my back, watching his every movement, his every sob. I was judging him because he truly was nothing like me. He had a soft heart like Rose once had.

Hearing her name again sent a strange beating in my heart.

Without thinking of it further, I spoke to Marco again, calling him a weakling for not being able to finish me off. Soft-hearted or not, he was useless to me if he couldn’t even kill me off. I was lying here, my chest up and heart ready to be impaled and he simply lacked the courage to do so. Never once did I think that I had raised such an inferior heir.

Marco begged me to answer him one simple question. The boy asked me why I had lived the way I did and why was I so hellbent on murder. It was simple, Marco, didn’t you get it? It was for revenge, to give justice to my wife for being taken from me at such a young age. When someone has stolen something from another, the only logical answer is to enact revenge.

My wife was stolen from me; therefore, I had to kill to fill the void in my heart.

Marco pleaded to me, sniffling and crying as he spoke. He told me that my wife had been gone for so long and yet, I kept killing and ruining the lives of others. I was in pain, my son. You wouldn’t understand. I told him that those lives were nothing but necessary sacrifices to get what I wanted. He preached to me and told me that a life is not something to take away as I please.

My son kept sobbing while I was on the ground with no will to move. I stared up into the gray skies above, feeling the first drops of rain hit my face. I was starting to feel cold and couldn’t help but suppress a shudder.

I had one final question for Marco, for my son. I inquired as to why, of all the living things on this planet, he chose a human. He didn’t give me straight answer; rather, he preached to me once more.

_“What? H-How are we different? Aside from how we look? I spent weeks there, in their kingdom…it’s like a mirror image. We are exactly the same.”_

_“And Jean…is just…right.”_

It was finished. Everything I had strived for was over and done. I had nothing left in this mortal realm.

I lost in the end. I was going to see Rose again and I should have been happy but instead, I felt a little sad.

I groped around the floor for the blood stained knife, snatching it before Marco had a chance to react. It felt so heavy and cool in my hand. The rain above had started to pick up, soaking us to the bone, and I shivered. 

Marco shouted at me, begging me to not do anything rash with the knife but I simply drowned out the sound of his voice with my own thoughts. I was ready because there was nothing left for me. My heart had been hurting for too long and it was time to rid myself of this pain. With one fluid motion, I plunged the knife deep into my chest next to my heart. Blood sputtered from my mouth as my body winced and jerked unnaturally as the cold steel of the blade pierced through my very being.

It was so cold. I was so cold from the blade, the rain, the loneliness, and the _emptiness._

Marco rushed to my side, crying and screaming for me but I still did not pay attention to him. I thought of my beautiful wife. I thought of her cradling our son in her arms and feeding him. I thought of the little games Marco and I played together when Rose was resting nearby. I thought of her gorgeous smile and how happy she was the day Marco hatched from his egg.

I didn’t feel any pain.

My vision was going in and out and I felt dizzy and light-headed. There was a slight buzzing rushing through my body as I began to lose feeling all throughout it. One last memory played in my mind.

_“Keep Marco happy.”_

That’s right. Those were her final words, weren’t they? And what have I done to show for myself? My mind cleared suddenly from the realization. In my final moments I realized that I had not honored my wife’s dying wish. My son was hurting and in pain just as he had been all his life. I failed him.

Marco.

Papa’s so sorry.

_“I-I just w-wanted my father b-back.”_

I-I’m so sorry…I was supposed to k-keep you happy.

Rose? Is that you? I saw her smiling face one more time before my vision darkened and my body gave out from my mortal wound.

Everything felt cold in those final moments; I was freezing on the marble floor as raindrops pelted against my body. I was always told that I would die warm and comfortable in my bed as my family surrounded me with love and mourning. I did not have that luxury.

My name was Anaximander Bodt.

And I died in the cold. I’ve always hated the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clear this up, Jean does live from that ordeal but barely.
> 
> And yes, we finally have a live, official Resistance fic. What I plan to do is not write the entire thing because sadly my talents are so limited, I simply could not do it justice, but to write different scenes from the AU and put them in the series.
> 
> But I could not do any of this at all without the help of the amazing Saphruikan. We created and role played this AU over the summer of last year and it was one of the greatest stories we have ever made. Therefore, I wrote this oneshot as well as another just for her to show my love and appreciation for her. Please, everyone, go and show Saphruikan some love!


End file.
